


Color My World

by anassa_anemou



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Chromesthesia, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Non Graphic Triggering, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anassa_anemou/pseuds/anassa_anemou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all days are good, but Steve and Bucky are trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color My World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> Hi, I'm hoping this makes you happy and that I captured Bucky and Steve the way you see them. And that I didn't ruin your prompt for Chromesthesia.
> 
> **For anyone reading, please check End Notes for Tag Explanation.**

The street is noisy and completely separated from his apartment: he remembers once, living in a hiding spot in the treetops, with the snow falling around him, the feeling of freedom made in the greenish tint accompanied by the sound of the gushing wind appearing just in front of his eyes. Now, trying to figure out how to be down there with people, he feels the rotten brown start to peek into his field of vision.

 

He blinks and then is night, hours pass the midnight, and is like the empty street in front of him don’t mean anything. There are a lot of sounds to hear around him, people having sex in bursts of red; the sick yellow of the labored breathing from his tuberculous neighbor coming and going as he coughs; the fresh blue, like the morning sky, from the bakery around the corner and the smell of bread, that is not there yet, but it will come when they finally are pushed into the oven.

 

Bucky breaths in and out, his eyes close and the fringe of his hair falls to his face, gentle and unworried. He doesn’t know how to properly function out there, not when he has a metal arm, and flashbacks and the sense he wants to be around Steve and at the same time can’t look as his face without seeing their fights and the feeling that brings back the wish to kill him, tore him apart.

 

Sometimes, at nights like this, when the sleep is fickle and he stays hours and hours looking outside, he thinks he could disappear again, walk away, turn his back and forget there is someone that worries about him, that wishes he would be whole again. Months ago, Steve was just a name, one he didn’t recognize, just associated name to face he had to kill. Now he hears a whistle and remembers lavenderly, the feet that tucked into each other, the cold raging, no freedom green, but brutal against the window and the struggle to keep warm.

 

He opens his eyes again, letting the lull of the empty street fill his vision, to focus on the movement of the odd car, that one newspaper unfolding and flying in the ar, the pages lost from the body. His lids are heavy, but he can’t be quiet enough to sleep, even if his body been in the same position all the day and most of the night; there is a taut energy blinding him for anything else and his body can’t relax.

In the air the shirl of his cellphone rings and he smiles when there isn’t any color bursting through the air and he thinks Natasha knew exactly what she was doing when she chose that song. He doesn’t go grab the phone, he will call when the sun is up and he can pretend his mind isn’t trying to tell him to run again.

***

Steve knocks on the door and waits; he has a key, but he learned the hard way not to get in announced or, even when they set an hour and date, to just get in. Once, Bucky almost slashed his throat, because he been waiting with a knife just behind the door. Another time, they had smashed all the living room, Steve struggling to make Bucky stop and listen to him.

 

It’s not easy, by any chance, but at least he likes to think it can’t get worse. Or he won’t think of how to it can get worse: Sam alerted him to the possibility that it may never be good and Steve tries to deal with it the way he learned in the Veterans meetings: one day at a time. 

 

“Hi Steve.” Bucky answers in Steve’s clothes, a large blue t-shirt that Steve used to sleep in and low hanging pants, soft green, faded and soft. 

 

“Bucky.” Steve gets in, smiling slightly at the calmness his friend is displaying, he hopes this is a good day.

 

They settle in the couch, not near, because they are still awkward around each other. Steve wants to pull Bucky in, even if it was just to feel the warmth of their bodies against each other, to feel him present, near, as if they were melding into one. Steve feels Bucky give a shuddering breath, before he moves an inch closer, hips moving slightly to Steve’s side.

 

Steve looks helpless around the room, breathing very slowly and trying to figure out if he should or not move; to his side, Bucky moves again, this time putting one of his arms on the couch, his fingers almost touching the back of Steve’s head. This time Steve waits a beat before he let’s his head rest back, very slowing to rest against Bucky’s open hand.

 

The room is silent and for a moment they just breath into each other, letting their minds settle before anything else. Steve wonders if Bucky is seeing anything, if the silence has a color too. He still has trouble to understand how it works, Natasha explained that Bucky used the Chromesthesia as a mnemonic way to remember things, perhaps even a mechanism to save some part of him, behind the Winter Soldier persona. Which meant some memories could comes activated by certain sounds, and everyday sounds could trigger colors that were already associated by memories or just to other recurrent sounds.

A few weeks ago Bucky told him he remembered Steve as lavender, not all of it, sometimes perpetuated by red-blue-white, memories he couldn’t reconcile, because they were so different they sometimes triggered Bucky back to Pierce’s orders. When that happens, Steve has to bring him back, using force, pinning him to the floor; his voice, calling him Bucky, is the most important, because reminds both of them of before. Sometimes is hard to remember, even for Steve, how to be like before the ice. He wonder if Bucky always saw colors before, or if it was just a coping mechanism generated by the Winter Soldier persona: he didn’t ask Natasha and he still finds it hard to believe Bucky wouldn’t have told him that before the war.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is soft, his eyes looking to the window, but his hand now cradling Steve’s head, warm and sweaty.

“Yeah, Bucky?” They are still hesitant and Steve hates it.

Bucky starts to say something, but before he can finish, his arm, the flesh one, brings Steve in, forcing his head into Bucky’s neck, letting Steve breath in and it is a marvelous feeling. Something he never thought he would get, not after everything. His friend tenses again, breaths hard, trying to stay, to let Steve stay there and Steve finally acts.

“I love you.” And it’s like a balloon pops, the tension reaching the maximum point, until is finally released and Steve pulls Bucky in, holding him in his arms, letting their chest press, smashing mouths looking for something, teeth clacking until Bucky holds Steve’s jaw, makes them stop.

For one second Steve thinks they won’t get it, that Bucky will plunge the metallic arm and then there is a brush of lips against his, so soft Steve feels his eyes tear and he plunges in. There is still the desperate energy, but now, Steve tries to let go and it feels so good. He slows down, stopping for a shaky breath and Bucky smirks at him. 

It’s a good kiss after all. 

***  


Bucky smiles quietly when Steve starts giggling against his shoulder, there isn’t really a color, it’s more of a shininess that doesn’t dissipates. It’s a really good day and Steve as usual makes him slightly calm. He almost thought the night would make him grumpy, dangerously in a bad mood, but somehow, he feels ok.  
“You are still that scrawny kid.”

“You are still that smirking son of a gun.”

This time he sees the lavender as Steve’s words go to his brain, only at the edges, and Bucky closes his eyes, to go back to the moment. There is a faint movement behind his eyes, and the feeling of another body pressed against him in a single bed, it’s cold, almost as when he fell and his head spins. 

“Bucky, come one, stay with me.” Steve shakes him, his shaky breath evoke red and before he can see the other colors that will bring the hurt, he opens his eyes to see Steve eyes shining. Bucky pulls on the bind in his hair, letting it fall in his face, hiding for a second without needing to close his eyes.

Steve sits on top of him, pressing their cocks together, bringing his hands to cup Bucky’s face. Their heartbeat are strong and filling: many times Bucky had Steve on top of him, shaky breaths and slow heart, irregular and fearful; he thinks he remembers fever and they way sometimes Steve would throw up blood, his stomach hurting. It’s weird now, how they are both health, almost indestructible.

Steve lets one of his hand get down to the metallic arm, going to hold the hand and pulling it to rest in his ass, before lowering his chin for a sloppy kiss. Bucky brings his mouth to Steve ear, nibbling on it, and making Steve moan. The moan, his delicious moan, is bright orange and Bucky rubs harder against him, making Steve’s breath hitch. 

“Just...Yeah, like that...” Steve howls when Bucky grabs his ass at the same time his mouth bites hard against his neck. 

His sees fireworks in his head, and then all is blank. When he starts to get back to himself, he can feel Steve boneless against him. It’s a nice feeling, especially when they are sticky and he can feel the moist in his pants.  
“Next time on a bed, ok?” Steve huff's when Bucky speaks and they drop to the side, trying to fit in the lumpy couch. 

Steve doesn’t say anything and Bucky sees that he is drowsy, lids almost closing, so he brings Steve in, fitting him under Bucky’s arm and still letting him have space to move out if he needs; it’s never a good idea to make himself feel trapped. Steve starts snoring, and Bucky smiles against his shoulder, a big smile this time.

“I love you too.” He decides he will try to say it with Steve awake, when he can listen.

Bucky closes his eyes and wonders if he can expect a good wakening.

**Author's Note:**

> I used Chromesthesia idea freely, which means this is not real and isn't meant to be. I decided to have Bucky acquire it, trough a artificial process where both he tried to keep memories locked, as a mean of survival, as well as Hydra using it to trigger him into obeying. 
> 
> Non Graphic Triggering and Memory Loss are related to Cannon details, where Bucky has to deal with Post Winter Soldier PTSD and memory loss.


End file.
